The first time I wrote a diary about being a sex offender I told the story of someone I know who is in jail from an Internet sting. He never met anyone, touched anyone or even approached anyone. But among the many replies about how sex offenders "can't be cured" was one that said we know that by the time someone like this is caught they've gotten away with many crimes because "nine-month olds don't talk." I guess because everyone accused of talking about sex to a make-believe teenager is secretly a baby rapist. That's exactly how many people think about all sex offenders. Including me.
The next time I talked about how the registry didn't work to keep people safe I was told "I don't care." And that "there are millions of untested rape kits." And "aww, did sex offenders get their fee-fees hurt?"
So I thought this time I might tell you what I did and how my fee-fees were hurt.
What I did was something real. It was real and it was really wrong. The summer I turned twenty-two i had just finished a pre-engineering degree and was saving up to finish school. One of my professors helped me get a summer job at a golf and swim club in a small town. It paid minimum wage but it was mostly just selling snacks and golf balls and the job came with a small apartment on the premises. Not long after I started a girl started coming into the shop each day. She was tall and very pretty and she had a great New England accent that sounded cool to my southern ears. She told me her father was a banker and that they had just moved there. She also said she had won a beauty contest back in her home town. I could believe it. I called her Miss Autumn because that was the contest she won. Within a week we were making out. Sometimes in some hidden corner of the property. Sometimes in my apartment. We engaged in what my high school pastor would have called "heavy petting." We both had phones that could send texts which was rare then and we sent a lot of messages back and forth about what we wanted to do. Then her father found her phone. Then I was arrested. She was 15.
We had never had sex but I was charged first with statutory rape. Then it was changed to two charges of attempted sodomy. Sodomy because we had talked about oral sex and other "unnatural acts." I thought attempted meant I was going to get a warning and I didn't want to tell my father. So I didn't hire a lawyer. I agreed to a hearing in front of a judge and admitted what I had done.
I was sentenced to eight years.
The first ninety days were in "shock treatment" which was mostly a group where we all had to chant together about the harm we had caused. Every day and several times each day I was told to announce the name of my victim and to say that I had hurt her. That I had tried to rape her and tried to force her to do things for me. Every day I was told to say how I was a deviant and could never forget it. For another year I was at a special prison where almost everyone was a sex offender. Then I moved to a regular state prison. I was never raped in prison. I'm sure that is disappointing. I was beaten many times if that helps. Because my charge was attempted sodomy my nickname was "boy fucker." You don't try to explain things like the real definition of sodomy in prison.
My state has a one for one rule where every day of good behavior in prison earns you an extra day. But while I was in the rules were changed so they didn't apply to sex offenders. Legislators never stop making things harder for sex offenders because it always sounds good to voters. Sex offenders are monsters. I got out just after turning twenty nine.
Then I was on probation. I was supposed to be on probation for five years but it got extended to almost seven. That includes twice spending time in county jail. Once I went back for failure to keep a job. I had gotten a job cleaning rooms at a small motel. But a local TV reporter did an expose on "sex offenders in the workplace" and put my mug shot on TV. I wasn't fired but I left the jobwithout permission from my PO because I knew it was hurting the people who owned the motel. I spent about a month in jail for that. It is hard to find a job when you are not allowed to use the Internet or touch a computer or use a smartphone. Another time I almost went back to jail because I had no fixed address. Homeless shelters in my area will not take sex offenders and I wasn't allowed to leave the county. I also went back to jail because I failed a polygraph. Or at least I was told I had. Polygraphs can't be used in trials but for sex offenders on parole or probation they are used all the time. Sometimes they tell you you failed to try and get you to confess something.
During my years of probation I never held a job that paid more than minimum wage and often worked for less. People who hire sex offenders figure they are not going to complain and they know that losing a job means jail. So you take what they offer and keep your mouth shut.
While on probation I went every week to group therapy. This is not like any group therapy you know. People are encouraged to attack each other. There is "confession time" where you are supposed to admit any temptations you had or things you did that might violate parole. Everything you say can and will be used against you. There was no privacy and the therapist is there to "protect the public" not help you. If the therapist doesnt think you have been participating in group or you didn't find things to confess he can suspend you from therapy. That means going back to jail. So if you said something they didn't like you went to jail. If you didn't say enough you went to jail. It happened a lot. Every week going to therapy was like marching to the gallows. Every week someone broke down. Sometimes it was me.
During probation the county sherrif, state highway patrol, therapist, parole officer, and federal marshals all showed up repeatedly where I was living or where I was working. Unannounced. At all times of day or night. Including weekends and holidays. Neighbors and coworkers tend not to like this.
During probation my father died. I was not allowed to go to the funeral because the parole officer said I hadn't given enough warning. Long trips require a month warning because they want to contact the sheriff of the county you are going to to tell them you are there. I could not have gone anyway because there were minors present and I couldn't be near them without some advance clearance and paperwork. Besides I had not seen my father since the first month in prison. My mother died while I was in high school and I would have said that me, my father and my sister were very close. One day while I was really feeling sorry for myself in prison I wrote a letter telling my father he should pretend I was dead and my sister was his only child. I think that's what he did.
Every single day of probation was a day lived in terror. I was poor. But I couldn't apply for most jobs or for public assistance. I was alone and there was no one who wanted to change that. Mostly I was terrified that I would be sent back to jail at any moment. I ran to the window whenever a car went by. I shook every time I heard a siren.
Getting off probation was a great relief. That's the day it really felt like I was at least partly free. I could use the Internet which was hugely different than it had been before I was arrested. I could travel away from my home without permission though other states can still be an issue. I could go into a bar–-I don't drink, but it's funny how being told you can't do something while everyone else can makes it seem attractive. I could even sleep somewhere else without worrying that I would be arrested for it.
But mostly I still don't drink and don't travel. I do use the Internet. Mostly I read and try to catch up on everything I missed. When I write I write too long. Probably because I've been waiting so long. Oh and I can vote now. I missed that too when it was gone.
But I'm still on the registry. Here is what that means.
Every ninety days for the rest of my life I have to go to the sheriff's office to get my picture taken, my fingerprints done again and answer questions about where I live and work. All of this goes on a public database.
I still can't find a job at much above minimum wage. If a company is big enough to have an HR department or runs any sort of background check they won't hire me. Not even for an entry level job. It is only places where I can sit down and talk to someone first where I have a chance. I always tell them about my record. But big companies just see you on the registry and stop there.
I can't live near other people. The law says I can't live near a school or park or day care, but the reality is just "people." At one place I wanted to move into an apartment but I had to inform all the people in the complex and they started a petition to keep me out. At another a day care opened down the street and I had just days to move. When the law says school it means any school public or private and any day care no matter how small. Good luck staying 1000' away from them and every other restriction. If someone opens a new school or day care and I'm already living there, I have to get out. I finally saved enough for a beat up trailer and found a place far from anyone. At least no one burned down my home. That has happened to a lot of people on the registry.
I cannot go to a park. I can't be within 500 feet of a park. That includes local and state parks. Since the museums near me are in a park I can't visit them. Or the zoo. Or a pool or a carnival or an amusement park. Or anything else they add to the list. Ever. For the rest of my life. My parents were married in a gazebo at a park a few miles down the road. I can never visit it. I think this is the one that hurts me most.
I also need to be careful where I go. Stopping to eat too near a park, school, playground, daycare, or anything else is a no-go. So I tend not to accept invitations to lunch unless I'm very sure it's a "clear" area. There are very few restaurants that meet that definition.
On Halloween I have to turn off my lights, put up no decorations, and put a state-approved sign on my door. I do it, though I'm so far from everyone now I wouldn't get any visitors. Except the sheriff of course. He comes to check. Every year.
I don't have kids. So I don't have to explain why I can't take them to scouts or little league or any other after school event. Or why I have to have special permission from the superintendent and school board to enter school grounds under supervision. You can imagine how much school boards like to give out that permission.
If I move I have to register again. If I move out of state I'll be on the federal registry as well as the state registry and for most states I will get the greater of any restrictions between the two states.
I can't travel out of the country. Or I can but there are few places that will take me. Canada and Mexico will not. Ever. Every other country is a gamble with a good chance I'll never get past customs. So I don't try.
Oh yeah, and I can never own a gun. Not that I want one but for those folks who decide to go hunting people on the registry I'm sure it's nice that they can do it without worrying about return fire.
I can't go to church. Like travel this one is theoretically possible but I would have to get written permission before showing up for services. It just seems wrong to even put some pastor in the job of making that decision.
So to finally wrap this thing up my fee-fees are hurt because for the rest of my life I can't live where I want to live, I can't work for 99% of the companies in the country, I can't ever hike in a state park or go to the zoo or ride a roller coaster or just sit in the place that made me feel best as a kid. My fee-fees are hurt because if I have kids I can never push them in a swing at the playground or coach their softball team or let their friends come off for a party. My fee-fees are hurt because I'm a target for hatred and I have to refresh that target every 90 days. Always. Forever. My fee-fees are hurt because I don't EVER get out of prison.
And a lot of you are probably saying "good" and "it makes us safer." You know better. You know the real statistics. You just like the satisfaction that someone like me is suffering every day.